Poetry, memoir,blogs and photographs from my world on the west coast of Canada.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Accessible Poetry

Running behind the herd as always, (a dangerous place for an aging creature!), I trip over Lolamouse's prompt at Toads, to write an "accessible poem" in the style of Billy Collins. My brain cells being fairly fried by now, I think much of my poetry is perhaps a little TOO accessible, sometimes, but I will try to Collins it up a notch for you, kind reader.

Wandering through the living room to let in half a dozen dogs,I see a neatly beheaded small mouse - a shrew? - lying on the nearer dog bed.The cat imperiously stalks past, likelytrying to send a message aboutthe calibre of her kibble.How soon they forget being homeless,and become demanding.Why are they called shrews, I wonder. Or, alternatively, why are women called shrews when they complain?Generally, we have a ton of good reasons to do so.I pluck him from his decapitated end,wrap him in paper towelingand ponder:garbage or compost?Hmmm...........the Head Honchois not at home to ask.Okay, garbage: swiftly done,No One Will Ever Know -other than you,dear reader,and you wont tell. *** *** ***Oh, I LOVE accessible poetry. But if I start repeating myself, please do tell me. I'm old. It happens.*** *** ***

When I had two cats, I came home to find a headless mouse once. I decided the faster of the two cats had chased it down the hallway, and the fiercer cat had beheaded it in one bite.Nevertheless, the idea of headless mice being born in a lab is awful, and of headless human babies appalling. K

When I had two cats, I came home to find a headless mouse once. I decided the faster of the two cats had chased it down the hallway, and the fiercer cat had beheaded it in one bite.Nevertheless, the idea of headless mice being born in a lab is awful, and of headless human babies appalling. K